The Master & the Muses

by Amanda McIntyre

  Thomas spoke first. “We almost lost you, Helen. If William hadn’t found you when he did—”

  I looked again at William, his image swimming through my tears. “It was you.” He didn’t look up, he simply nodded.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t get you here fast enough,” he said, his voice cracking.

  “No, William, it wasn’t your fault. If I hadn’t gone to see my mother—”

  Thomas’s startled gaze turned to mine. “What did you say?”

  There was a bitter taste in my mouth and my chin quivered as I tried to force the truth from my lips. “I borrowed Grace’s carriage and went to see my mother. I needed to see her.”

  He bowed his head, resting his face on our hands. For a moment, I thought he was crying. William started for the door. “Wait, William, please stay.” I focused on Thomas. “I tripped. It was an accident. I thought I was fine. I thought if I rested I would feel better.”

  “I asked you to wait.” His words were muffled, but his authoritative tone was clear.

  “I needed to see her,” I insisted, feeling as if I had to defend my actions to him when what I needed was his understanding, his compassion for the loss I had suffered—that we had both suffered.

  He looked up, anger infused in his steely eyes. “If you hadn’t—”

  “Thomas, stop. There is no one that can be blamed.” William placed his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Especially not Helen.”

  Thomas jerked his shoulder away from William’s grasp. I could see the torment in his eyes. He wanted to blame someone, something.

  I yanked my hand from his and batted at his head, tired of his selfish behavior. “Don’t you dare be rude to him, or to me. I lost this child, too, Thomas.”

  Thomas pushed from the chair, toppling it over as he strode from the room.

  “I’ll go see to him, Helen,” William said, following his brother out the door.

  For the first time, I’d seen Thomas at his most vulnerable, and I realized that he was not comfortable with any reality other than his own. However, I could not tell if his anger was due to his grief or simply because I had defied his wishes.

  Exhausted, I purged my body of its pain, giving in to my heart-racking sobs.

  Thomas was unusually quiet. For more than two weeks, since my release from the hospital, his schedule had been full of appointments and meetings with the brotherhood that kept him out late most evenings. When he didn’t have a meeting, he went for long walks at night, sometimes not returning until after I was in bed.

  Though I tried, he didn’t want to talk about what had happened. It was as if he wanted to forget the episode entirely. We existed in the same house, on occasion sleeping beside each other but never touching. Other times, I would find him in his reading chair in the studio, a blanket pulled up beneath his chin, his hair and clothing disheveled. While the doctor encouraged me and said that I should be able to carry my next child to term, under the present circumstances, I doubted there would ever be another child.

  William put his next trip on hold, staying on at the studio and becoming an intermediary between Thomas and me. Moreover, with Thomas gone so much of the time, I’d come to rely on William’s strength as a confidant and companion. I feared my despondency, more evident some days than others, was an awful burden for him to bear, but he didn’t seem to mind. Perhaps more disconcerting was that I began to dwell more and more on the days before I met Thomas, remembering how captivated I had been with his brother. It was dangerous water to wade into, but I was desperately lonely.

  “You are looking better, Helen.” William smiled. Admiration shone on his face as he took the teacup I offered. My hand trembled as our fingers met, tipping the cup precariously in my hand. William caught it and righted it without a word.

  “The doctor says my stamina is improving,” I said, easing onto one of the dining-table chairs. Thomas preferred the table placed at the end of the studio, where there was plenty of room for the brothers to dine together on occasion.

  “I saw Thomas going out for a walk as I came in. He seemed in good spirits.”

  I didn’t bother to hide my surprise. “Then you’ve apparently seen a different Thomas than the man I’m married to.” I had seen little of him in recent days and tried not to think about where he went at night or who might be giving him comfort. I did not like sounding like a haggard wife, but the truth was that I was growing restless, hoping to find a glimpse of the old Thomas who had swept me off my feet and into his bed.

  “I confess I’m worried, William. He is not painting. He refuses to talk to me about anything. I don’t know who is more the ghost around here—him or me.”

  William looked at his cup. “Time heals wounds, Helen. He just needs more of it.”

  “And what shall I do in the meantime? I carry around this guilt, remembering what he said to me in the hospital, the implication that if I had listened to him, this wouldn’t have happened.”

  “He was angry and hurting, Helen. He didn’t mean what he said.”

  “And I wasn’t?” I challenged his loyalty to his brother.

  William studied me with his calm, clear blue eyes. “Helen—” he narrowed his gaze “—what you don’t need is to keep tormenting yourself. What happened…happened. It was just fate.” He stared at his cup. “Somehow we find a way to move on.”

  I considered his words, spoken while he traced the rim of his cup, lost in his private thoughts. In my twisted, selfish brain, I wondered if the loss he was referring to was not mine, but his. Was it possible he still harbored more than sisterly affection for me? The thought, however remote, sparked an adulterous curiosity in me. “Do you suppose then, that it was fate, William, that you instead of your brother found me?”

  He sat back, ramrod straight against the chair. What a handsome man he was, with many physical similarities to Thomas but none of his attitude. I looked away briefly, afraid he would see my torrid thoughts.

  “Helen, don’t.” He shifted in his chair. “It’s not the same.”

  “Why shouldn’t I be grateful that you were there, even as you are now here instead of him?” I left it unsaid that it should have been—should now be—Thomas offering me comfort. But he was far too busy in his quest to “set the academy on its ear!”

  The muscle of William’s square jaw ticked as he stared intently at the floor. His humility was part of his charm, as had been the case from the first day we met. I tried not to think of his unselfish kindness, how he held my hand when we walked in the park and how his eyes burned for me that fateful summer’s day.

  “I am not trying to make you feel uncomfortable,” I said quietly, though in truth my thoughts were driving me to distraction.

  He cleared his throat, his eyes carefully watching me. The air between us crackled with awareness.

  “Let’s talk about something else.” He placed his cup on the table. “Have you considered going back to your writing, at least until my brother has you modeling again?”

  I easily waved off his suggestion. “I’m not sure I’ll ever model again for Thomas. I’m sure my appearance is not the stuff of a stunner any longer.” I shrugged, giving the impression I didn’t care, although the uncertainty of my future weighed heavily on my mind. “I tried to do some writing after coming home, but I couldn’t stay focused.”

  He shrugged. “Perhaps you will pick it up again. It might be good therapy. I still carry the poem you gave me, you know.”

  I stared at him wide-eyed, unable to believe that after all this time he would still have it. The thought made me smile—something I had not done in weeks. “You are a true friend, William.” I laid my hand on his forearm and he smiled stiffly, taking a sip of his tea, effectively moving my hand away without a word.

  I found his reaction rather strange but chose to ignore it, instead changing the subject. “Well, then,” I asked with as much brightness as I could muster, “tell me about you. What have you been doing? Are you working on your designs?” I
was grateful for his company, to be able to visit with someone. I think that I was so desperate for human contact that I might even have welcomed Grace’s company, but she’d not been present since my return from the hospital.

  “I’ve been back to Italy. I spent a few days in India. I’ve been studying patterns in ancient architecture and artwork,” he replied.

  “That’s wonderful, but the expense must be enormous. Forgive my curiosity, but however do you manage it?”

  He shrugged. “It is a goodly sum. That much is true.” He took another sip of tea.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry,” I said. “I’m certain that someone of your talent has a generous sponsor.”

  He released a deep sigh. “He’s never told you?”

  “Who? Thomas? Never told me what?” I asked.

  “Thomas funds my expeditions. Mostly from the sales of his earlier works. He set up a trust for me when I was younger. The idea being that after I achieve my success, I can take care of him in his old age.”

  I had to chuckle. “That sounds like a plan Thomas would come up with.” I took a sip of my tea and shook my head in wonder. “I had no idea.”

  “As I once told you when you and I first met, he is a generous man.”

  I nodded. “Yes, I do remember and please do not misunderstand. I don’t deny his generosity, William. Thomas is a good man—complicated—but truly a good man, as I believe you are. It’s just that…well—” I flashed him a smile “—you’re here and he isn’t, and there is very little I can do about it.”

  William’s eyes bored into my soul, making me think things I shouldn’t. I fiddled with my cup and we sat for a moment in tension-filled silence, cordially drinking our tea.

  I pushed past the awkward silence in an effort to change the topic, shift it away from Thomas and my loneliness. “So tell me, what lovely lady has caught your eye these days?”

  He responded with a halfhearted laugh. “I’m afraid there’s no one. I’m gone so much of the time…” He stopped as if about to say more, and shrugged. “My work is enough,” he added as an afterthought.

  “Well, I hope that you won’t always feel that way,” I said. “You deserve more.” He looked at me, his gaze steady, curious.

  “Why is it so important to you, Helen? My life is my affair, isn’t it? If I choose to share my life with someone, then it will be my choice, not directed by someone who is clearly—” He set his cup on his saucer. “I’m sorry, Helen. I said too much, I should leave.”

  He pushed up from his chair and hesitated as he looked down at me. Finally, he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on my cheek. “Wait.” I grabbed his hand. “You meant to say someone who is clearly unhappy, didn’t you?”

  I heard his tense sigh. “I reacted badly,” he said. “I apologize.”

  I clung to his hand as I stood. “Isn’t that what friends do, William? Don’t they speak openly with each other? Don’t they wish the best for each other?”

  “Yes, I suppose, Helen.” He patted my hand, gently tugging his from my grasp. I held on firmly, desperate to hear what I hoped was true.

  “We used to talk about so many things. Do you remember our walks in the park, our trip to the gallery?” It was a selfish display, begging him for attention like this. But looking at him reminded me of easier days—days when the future looked brighter.

  “Helen, I am sorry, but I would rather not talk about this.”

  “Of course, what’s in the past is in the past.” I gave a short laugh. “It can’t be resurrected, nor should we wish that it could be, right, William?”

  He stared at the floor but did not respond. I pressed further, needing to understand how he’d been able to walk away from me so easily, never once showing that he cared. “Is that the reason you travel so much? To get away from here?” To get away from me? He glared at me.

  “You think you know me? You think you know how I feel?”

  “No, of course not,” I said. “I only wanted to know—”

  “You want to know the truth, Helen?” His gaze narrowed as he squeezed my hand tight. “I’ll tell you, then. It nearly killed me to find you on the floor, nearly gone…to realize how close I came—” He shut his eyes. “We came, to losing you.”

  My fingers ached, but no worse than did my heart. We stood looking at each other, the challenge to walk away or follow through on our emotions, hanging with tantalizing fascination between us. “I’m glad it was you that found me.”

  “You might have died,” he said, searching my eyes.

  “But I didn’t,” I tossed back. “I just want you to be happy, William. You’re the kind of man every woman wants.”

  “Everyone except you, is that what you mean?” he snapped back.

  My lips parted to respond, but the shock of his words barred my voice. It was not me who had walked away that day—or was it? I finally found my tongue and my spine at once. “That was your choice, William.”

  His laugh was cynical. “And later, when you had the choice to marry?”

  I tugged at my hand, my frustration growing. “You’re hurting me.”

  “You made the choice, Helen.”

  He yanked me closer, capturing my hand against his chest. “You said nothing, and I thought it was because you didn’t care, that you were being loyal to Thomas.”

  “Of course, good old dependable William. Steadfast and true, predictable as the sunrise. Just give him a pat on the head every now and again? Is that the picture you’ve painted of me, Helen?”

  I was shocked at his perception. “N-no, of course not,” I stammered.

  “Do you think it was easy for me to watch you carrying his child, wishing it were mine? Do you think it was easy coming back from a trip and finding out that you’d married him?”

  He grabbed my shoulders, squeezing them painfully.

  “I—I didn’t think—”

  “That’s right, Helen. You didn’t, not that it would have mattered, because I’ve always thought of Thomas first, before my own happiness. I took care of him, saw to his needs, consoled him, celebrated his successes—then you came along and took that job away from me. Yet, here is the ironic twist. What I first thought was best for Thomas was really what was best for me. And I have had to stand by and watch him squander that.” He touched my cheek and I nearly burst into flame. “I’ve had to watch him squander the gift that I gave up.” His eyes shimmered as he leaned his forehead to mine. “If I had the chance to do it all again, I would never have stepped aside.”

  His thumb brushed my cheek. I dared not look at him, his mouth so temptingly close, his confession igniting a fire that coursed through my blood. His finger touched my chin, coaxing me to meet his gaze, and there I saw the torment and passion I had seen once on a summer afternoon long ago.

  His lips captured mine, claiming me in blinding, selfish lust. He pressed his body against mine, pinning me to the table and sending one of the teacups shattering to the floor. I welcomed his heated kisses, trailing down the slope of my neck, succumbing to his urgency to find my mouth again, appeasing this vicious hunger that consumed us both.

  “I should burn in hell for what I want to do to you, Helen,” he whispered, his breath hot against my cheek.

  I swallowed hard, my fingers stiff from gripping the front of his shirt, but I did not want to let him go. “Tell me, William. Tell me what you’d do,” I pleaded shamelessly, my loneliness nearly swallowing me whole.

  “No, Helen. I’m sorry, I can’t.”

  He held my face, searching my eyes for an answer that I could not give him.

  “William,” I whispered, leaning up to capture his mouth in another soul-searing kiss.

  “We can’t,” he said, squeezing his eyes, blinking them as if trying to clear the haze of desire between us. If fate had anything to do with my life, it had just dealt the cruelest hand to me yet.

  “Can’t, or won’t?” I asked with bravado, his taste lingering on my lips.

  He closed his eyes for a
moment and drew me close, rubbing his cheek over my hair.

  “God, I envy him,” William said quietly. “Like an open wound, and it is a torture that I live with every day, knowing that it is him who has every right to be in your bed.”

  He stepped away, holding me at arm’s length, and then turned from me, raking a hand through his hair. “I’ll go mad if I dwell on this. You are not just a model anymore, Helen, but his wife. What I feel is wrong in so many ways.”

  He reached for my face, stopping short, and curled his fingers, drawing his hand to his side. “I have no right, not after all Thomas has done for both of us.” He pressed his lips to my forehead in a tender kiss. “I have to find a way to forget, Helen, and I need you to forget, too. It’s the only way.” He dropped his arms to his sides as if touching me was poison, forbidden, and the next moment, he was gone.

  I sat staring blindly before me long after he’d gone. The man I had married had no time for me; the man who desired me more than I could conceive was noble to the point of martyrdom. My loneliness consumed me. I had to have time to think, to get away from here and go back to where I once remembered feeling safe and secure—home. I prayed that Papa would accept me.

  The next morning I spoke to Thomas about going home for an extended visit. He agreed that the fresh air and sunshine would be good for me. “You’re sure that you will be well?” I asked, a part of me hoping that Thomas would try to talk me out of leaving. We stood on the front stoop, my bags already in the carriage.

  “It’s only for a short time, Helen. Between William and Grace, I’m sure I can manage adequately. I was once a self-reliant bachelor, if you recall.”

  I tried to dismiss the sense that he wished he was that again. Thomas gave me a peck on my cheek. William drew me into a quick, brotherly hug but I knew it was nothing more than a show to mask his true feelings.

  “Enjoy your stay,” Thomas called.

  I rested my head against the seat and closed my eyes, letting the gentle rocking motion of the carriage lull me. It seemed I had lost everything—my child, Thomas and William. I had to ask myself if it was worth the lying and heartache that I’d put my family through to attain my independence, only to have nowhere else to go but home with my bag of broken dreams.